Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
Uncle Tromp laid another fiery stone upon the anvil, a fortune such as few men could amass in ten years of unremitting labour, and stood back.
Strike! he cried, and the hammer hissed as it turned in the air, and the anvil rang like a great gong. The precious dust was brushed aside and another stone laid in its place.
Strike! roared the Trumpet of God, and Manfred worked with the hammer, grunting and sobbing in his throat with each fateful blow until at last Uncle Tromp cried: Praised be the name of the Lord. It is done! And he fell on his knees, dragging Manfred down with him, and side by side they knelt before the anvil as though it were an altar and the white diamond dust coated their knees as they prayed.
Oh Lord Jesus, look upon this act of penance with favour.
Thou who gave up Thy life for our redemption, forgive Thy young servant whose ignorance and childishness has led him into grievous sin. It was after midnight and the candle was guttering in a puddle of its own wax before Uncle Tromp rose from his knees and pulled Manfred up with him.
Go to your bed now, jong. We have done all we can to save your soul for the time being. He watched while Manfred undressed and slipped under the grey blanket. Then he asked quietly: If I forbade you to go to Windhoek in the morning, would you obey me? My father, whispered Manfred.
Answer me, Jong, would you obey me? I don't know, Uncle Tromp, but I don't think I could. My pa, I You have so much to repent already. It would not do to add the sin of disobedience to your load. Therefore, I place no such restriction upon you. You must do what loyalty and your conscience dictate. But for your own sake and mine, when you reach Windhoek, use the name of Bierman not De La Rey, Jong, do you hear me? Judgement today! I make a rule never to predict the outcome of any piece of legislation or judicial process, Abe Abrahams announced from his chair facing Centaine Courtney's desk. However, today I break my own rule. I predict that the man will get the rope. No question about it. How can you be that certain, Abe? Centaine asked quietly, and Abe looked at her with covert admiration for a moment before replying. She was wearing a simple lowwaisted dress which could justify its expense only by its exquisite cut and the fineness of the silk jersey material. It showed off her fashionable small bosom and boyishly slim hips as she stood against the french windows. The bright white African sunlight behind her formed a nimbus about her head, and it took an effort to look away from her and to concentrate on the burning cheroot which he held up to enumerate his points.
Firstly, the small matter of guilt. Nobody, not even the defence, has made any serious attempt to suggest anything other than he is guilty as all hell. Guilty in intention and execution, guilty of planning it in detail and carrying it out as planned, guilty of all manner of aggravating circumstances, including attacking and robbing a military remount depot, firing on the police and wounding one of them with a grenade. The defence has as good as admitted their only hope will be to pull some arcane technical rabbit from the legal hat to impress His Lordship, a hope which so far has not materialized. Centaine sighed. She had spent two days in the witness stand. Though she had remained calm and unshakable in the face of the most rigorous and aggressive cross-examination, she was exhausted by it, and haunted by a sense of culpability, of having driven Lothar to that desperate criminal folly, and now guilty of heading the pack that was pulling him down and would soon rend him with all the vindictiveness that the law allowed.
Secondly, Abe waved the cheroot, the man's record.
During the war he was a traitor and a rebel with a price on his head, a desperado with a long string of violent crimes to his discredit. He was pardoned for his wartime crimes, Centaine pointed out. A full pardon signed by the prime minister and the minister of justice. Still, they will count against him. Abe wagged his head knowingly. Even the pardon will make it worse for him: biting the hand of mercy, flouting the dignity of the law.
The judge won't like that, believe me. Abe inspected the end of the cheroot. It was burning evenly with a firm inch of grey ash and he nodded approvingly. Thirdly, he went on, the man has shown no remorse, not a jot nor a shred of it. He has refused to tell anybody what he did with the filthy loot. M He broke off as he saw Centaine's distress at the mention of the missing diamonds, and continued hurriedly: Fourthly, the emotional aspects of the crime, attacking a lady of the highest standing in the community. He grinned suddenly.
A helpless female so unable to defend herself that she bit his arm off. She frowned and he became serious again. Your own courage and integrity will count heavily against him, your dignity in the witness box. You have seen the newspapers: Joan of Arc and Florence Nightingale in one person, the veiled suggestion that his attack upon you might have been more dastardly and beastly than modesty will allow you to tell. The judge will want to reward you with the man's head on a platter. She looked at her wristwatch. The court will reconvene in forty minutes. We should go up the hill. Abe stood up immediately. 'I love to watch the law in operation, the dignified and measured pace of it, the trappings and ritual of it, the slow grinding of evidence, the sorting of the chaff from the wheat Not now, Abe, she stopped him as she adjusted her hat in the mirror above the mantel, draping the black veil over one eye, setting the small brim at an elegant angle and then picking up her crocodile-skin handbag and tucking it under her arm. Without any further oratory from you, let's just go and see this awful thing through. They drove up the hill in Abe's Ford. The press was waiting for them in front of the courthouse, thrusting their cameras into the open window of the Ford and blinding Centaine with bursting flash bulbs. She shielded her eyes with her handbag but the moment she stepped out of the automobile they were around her in a pack, yelling their questions.
Arhat will you feel if they hang him? What about the diamonds? Can your company survive without them, Mrs Courtney? Do you think they'll do a deal for the diamonds? What are your feelings? Abe ran interference for her, barging his way through the crowd, dragging her by the wrist into the comparative quiet of the courthouse.
Wait here for me, Abe, she ordered, and slipped away down the passageway, weaving through the crowd that was waiting for the doors of the main courtroom to open. Heads turned to watch her and a buzz of comment followed her down the passage, but she ignored it and turned the corner towards the ladies toilets. The office set aside for the defence was directly opposite the ladies room and Centaine glanced around to make sure she was unobserved, then turned to that door, tapped upon it sharply, pushed it open and stepped inside. She shut the door behind her and, as the defence counsel looked up, she said: 'Excuse this intrusion, gentlemen, but I must speak to you. Abe was still waiting where she had left him when Centaine returned only minutes later.
Colonel Malcomess is here, he told her, and all her other preoccupations were forgotten for the moment.
Where is he? she demanded eagerly. She had not seen Blaine since the second day of the trial when he had given his evidence in that ringing tenor lilt that raised the fine hair on the back of Centaine's neck, evidence that was all the more damning for its balanced unemotional presentation. The defence had tried to trip him on his description of the shooting of the horses and the grenade attack, but had swiftly sensed that he would provide little for their comfort and let him leave the stand after a few futile minutes of cross-examination. Since then Centaine had looked for him unavailingly each day.
